


Light the fuse

by unhappy_matt



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (very mild) hints of sexual abuse, Angst, Billy's POV, Character Study, Emotional Abuse, Hurt No Comfort, Not Incest, Other, Period-Typical Sexism, Physical Abuse, Slut-Shaming, Victim-blaming, control over women's sexuality, explorations of abuse dynamics inside the family, patriarcal culture, toxic masculinity, verbal abuse/abusive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappy_matt/pseuds/unhappy_matt
Summary: He wants to get along with the brat.He really does, for the sake of the family’s quiet at least, and he really tries, contrary to what it may seem. But it’s not his fault that the little shit is so goddamn annoying and stupid, somehow always inevitably finding a way to make him angry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE NOTES!!!
> 
> So, this is kind of a weird piece that I wrote because I needed to get something out of myself, in a way. It's meant to be an exploration of abuse dynamics between siblings, in an abusive household and a sexist, patriarchal social environment. I also wanted to try my hand at writing in Billy's POV, because it's hard to imagine what a character like him is thinking in the show.  
> This one-shot contains explicit depictions of physical and emotional violence, abusive language, slut-shaming and victim-blaming. It should be noted that while there is a subtext of control over Max's sexuality on Billy's part, NO incest is present. Still, if any of these themes can be triggering or upsetting to you, please refrain from reading.
> 
> I understand that there probably won't be much of an audience for this story. It's something that I wish to share, but I still wrote it mostly for myself.  
> Feedback is always appreciated, if you like.

He wants to get along with the brat.

He really does, for the sake of the family’s _quiet_ at least, and he really _tries_ , contrary to what it may seem. But it’s not his fault that the little shit is so goddamn annoying and stupid, somehow always inevitably finding a way to make him angry.

 

It’s _not. His. FAULT_.

 

Billy paces back and forth across his bedroom, rummaging through his things with a clenched jaw. With each passing minute, he feels the blood pulse harder in his temples, his fists twitching with the urge to clench and hit something. _Where_ is it? He’s gonna be late. His father and the wife are dining out, thanks God, so at least for tonight he doesn’t have to think about them, he can just take his car and go to this party one of his new classmates is throwing… but he needs his cologne, where the _fuck_ is it?

 

He opens and shuts drawers, he picks up handfuls of clothes from the unmade bed and the floor and drops them messily again, without finding the bottle. Anger builds up inside of him before he can even begin to stop it; it coils inside his belly like a spring ready to jump, white noise crackling in his eardrums and behind his eyelids.

It’s Max, she must’ve taken it, for whatever fucking reason.

Billy stops in the middle of the room, fingers clawing at empty air.

 

“Max!”

 

Silence.

 

Ah, but she’s home, he knows that she is, he would’ve heard her trying to slip out the door. She’s not as sneaky as she thinks, and now she’s gonna help him find the perfume. He’ll hang her upside down by her ankles and shake her, he’ll search through every inch of her room if he has to. If she’s taken what belongs to him, he will find out.

 

He slips one hand inside his pocket; shit, he was forgetting his wallet, too. He sees it at the end of his bed and grabs it, opening it for a quick glance.

It’s… empty. All the change is gone, there’s only a single, scrunched-up one dollar bill.

She did this. She dared.

He’s going to _kill her._

A growl starts trembling in his throat and Billy storms out of his room, kicking the door open with a loud _slam_.

He strides down the hallway, the soles of his boots heavy on the shining floor.

 

“MAX! Come the fuck HE-”

 

“I heard you the first time.”

Suddenly there she is, she materializes in front of him emerging from her room, long hair and big eyes and soft face.

Billy steps to her, watching as she flinches and squares her small shoulders.

“You stole from my wallet, didn’t you?” he snaps.

“What?! What are you talking about…”

She starts to step back, but he follows, filling the space between them.

“Don’t lie to me, Max.” The words slip through his gritted teeth with ease, on auto-mode. He doesn’t need to think: it’s her fault, she’s the liar. He just knows.

He takes another step forward and Max draws back, her pale eyes darting from his face to a spot on her left, looking for a way out she won’t find. Her back slams against one of the walls.

 

Billy slams the open palm of his left hand against the hard surface, a few inches above her shoulder.

Max winces.

“This doesn’t have to be hard,” he says, trying to soften his voice, just a little, but knowing he’s making a poor job of it. Max is staring at him and her shoulders are hunched, her neck rigid, her face pale. She puts on that ridiculous tough face that she always makes, the one that’s supposed to make him believe she’s not scared, but he feels the trembling of her body through their clothes, the pungent smell of sweat pooling under her armpits and rolling down her neck. She’s like a stray cat trapped in an alley, buzzing with this mixture of fear and anger.

 

Billy brings his face closer to hers.

“You just give me back my money, and this’ll be fixed. Any you’ll tell me where you put my cologne, since you like putting your dirty hands in my stuff so much.”

 

“I… don’t know… what you’re talking about!”

She tries to slide to the left, slipping through the almost invisible space between his body and the wall.

“I didn’t take anything from you!” Max’s voice is hoarse; her cheeks are getting red. _Liar_.

Anger bubbles inside Billy’s blood. He inhales deeply, fist clenched so tight along his side that it’s almost painful. Max gives him a push, pressing her hands against his stomach. “Fuck off, Billy, let me go!”

 

He opens his mouth, then notices something else. Something that stops him.

The shirt. She’s wearing a new shirt, one he has never seen before. She usually hides inside oversized, shapeless sweaters and ugly gym jerseys, large pairs of jeans and baseball caps – God, he swears sometimes it’s as if she’s trying to look like a boy. Usually he doesn’t give a fuck about what she wears, either way – but this one, this one is different.

It’s a powder blue button-up shirt, with a pattern of thin white stripes. On top of it, she’s wearing a pine green woolen sweater with a v-shaped neckline. The first few buttons of the shirt are open, a triangle of pale skin flashing between the pieces of fabric.

 

Billy forgets about the rest and he grabs her shoulder, shaking her roughly.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Max’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t speak. Her lashes tremble over huge eyes that are anxiously following Billy’s gaze. She presses her back harder against the wall.

“It’s nothing. It’s just a shirt,” she mutters.

 

His fingers sink into the fabric, squeezing her shoulder.

“You think you’re going out dressed like that? Shit, two days that we’ve been in this shithole of a place, and you already going around like a slut with your new friends?”

Her cheeks grow redder. Max’s chin trembles, her brows furrow. She looks like she’s holding back tears.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hisses. Her chest moves up and down to the rhythm of heavy breaths.

She grasps his forearm and yanks his hand away.

 

Billy bares his teeth.

“Shouldn’t have done that, Max.”

With a sudden, quick movement, he grabs her wrist and pins her right arm over her head.

Before he can think about it, his free hand moves to her neck. His fingers close around Max’s throat, just below her chin, and he slams her hard against the rough surface.

She struggles, her round cheeks puffing as she gasps for air.

“Do you think those kids will be your friends if you let each of ‘em have a go with you?” He licks his lips, inhaling sharply. “You think I will allow that?”

 

Every word is punctuated by a low _thud_ as he shoves her and the back of her head hits the wall.

His hand squeezes her neck tighter and Max uselessly paws at his hands, her feet kicking at empty air as he lifts her a few inches in mid-air.

“… F…uck…”

 

She made him do this. Why does she always have to make him angry? He’s tried to get along with her, hell, he’s tried to be a good brother and all the fucking bullshit that his father and his whore are constantly spitting out. He’s tried, but the little bitch makes it so hard; none of this would ever have to happen if she could just shut her mouth and do as he says. Instead Max is too stupid or too stubborn to obey, always rolling her eyes and talking back and lying, always doing the opposite of what he wants. It’s almost as if she’s doing it on purpose.

Somebody has to teach her. If the old bastard doesn’t take care of it, who else is left?

 

He lets her go.

She falls down, gasping, wheezing, her knees threatening to give way. She holds her throat and looks at him silently and now there _are_ tears, quiet tears pooling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

“Fuck you,” Max says through her teeth, with the last voice she has.

Her spit wets his face, a wet, warm bullet.

 

Billy raises his arm and slaps her, the back of his hand impacting against her face hard enough to make her head turn, long strands of red hair whipping the air, the blow sending her down on her knees.

 

Max sobs when she falls – he hears it, the sound cuts through him, because she usually never cries as long as she is in front of him. Her hair hides her face, the longer ends brushing the floor.

When she looks up again, her lower lip is split in the middle and there’s blood smearing her nose. Some more of it has pooled into a small spot on the floor, inches away from his shoes. She’s lucky she didn’t get them dirty, or else – he doesn’t know what he would’ve had to do to her, to make up for it.

 

Max raises slowly to her feet, shaking slightly. She rubs the back of her hand against her mouth, even though it makes her grimace in pain. Billy doesn’t tell her that she’s making it worse.

 

It’s rare for him to touch her at all; but this is the first time that he actually hits her. So far, he’s always used his words, the _threat_ of violence nearly always enough to keep her in check. He doesn’t know why this time is different. He knows that she drove him to this, and he knows that every sound in the room and everything that surrounds them is being drowned by the noise of his pulse rushing through his veins, hammering inside his ears.

 

A tiny, cutting pain blossoms suddenly on his face and Billy is abruptly brought back to his senses.

Max is staring back at him, her right hand still raised with her fingers crooked in the shape of claws.

“You son of a bitch!” she growls. “I fucking _hate_ you!” Her voice grows into a shout that thunders against the walls.

 

He brings a hand to his left cheek, stepping back, dazed.

 

Finally, Max breaks free.

She slips away, while Billy stands where he is, in the middle of the corridor, the lampshade casting an orange light over her face and everything else.

He hears the noise of her soles on the floor as she runs off, but distantly, as if his head is underwater. He doesn’t turn around to stop her, doesn’t move to chase her.

 

Billy stands there, panting. His eyes stare at his feet without really seeing them.

The stinging sensation of Max’s nails lingers on his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.  
> Please know that the same general warnings about the story's themes apply to this chapter, but there is no explicit violence.

His hand rests a few inches above the door handle, his fingertips barely touching the smooth metal.

Billy stands in front of Max’s bedroom door. Around him, the house is shrouded in darkness; he listens carefully, taking in every small creak, every sigh of the old pipes behind the walls.

His parents are asleep. He breathes out, slowly, very carefully, even now a tiny part inside of him worrying that his father might hear the sound of his breath.

His heart hammers inside his chest.

He moves his weight back and forth on the balls of his bare feet. Finally, he wraps his fingers around the door handle.

 

He doesn’t expect it to open, so when it does, he finds himself holding his breath again. Max usually locks herself inside these days, or at least she used to, until her anxious mother suggested that it’s not _safe_ for a child her age to have her own key, so they took it away.

Tonight, the wooden panel gives in easily under the cautious pressure of Billy’s hand. He pushes it little by little, revealing a triangular portion of the room behind.

Billy slides inside, then softly closes the door behind him.

 

His eyes scan the room, gradually adapting to the darkness, until he can recognize the shapes of Max’s closet, her desk, then her bed.

He moves his feet cautiously, barely lifting them from the ground. He’s learned from experience that since she can no longer lock herself in, Max has turned to setting homemade traps to make sure that she’s alerted if someone tries to enter without her permission. Chains made from tin cans and wooden strings; buckets filled with marbles and tennis balls on top of the door; or the old trick of placing a leaf or a small bit of paper between the door and the door jamb.

When nothing noisy or unexpected happens, Billy figures tonight she must have forgotten.

 

He steps closer to her bed. The curtains are pulled over the window, but he makes out the curled up shape of Max’s body under a dark blue duvet.

A thin stripe of silver moon light cuts diagonally across her pillow, lighting up Max’s sleeping face.

Billy now is standing just a few inches away. Silently, he leans down.

 

Her long strands of red hair are sprawled messily over the pillow, standing out against her pale cheeks. Her right shoulder is peaking from the tangle of sheets; her naked arm is curled up close to her face, her clenched fist pressed against her chin. Despite the cool temperature of the room in that late-Autumn season, she’s only wearing one of those large, washed-out t-shirts she often sleeps in. Trapped between her elbow and the curve of her thin shoulder, Billy catches a glimpse of something furry and round – the ears of her old teddy bear. A tattered, dusty thing; he remembers snatching it from one of the boxes when they first moved, holding it up above her head and threatening to throw it in the trash. Max denied caring about it but she still kicked his shin and chased him around the house to get it back; he’s sure she would deny sleeping with it, but she still does.

 

Something pulls painfully at his guts, sucking the air out of his stomach, the same way getting punched feels like.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, looking at the way her tiny fist is pressed against her cheek, the teddy bear pressed against her chest as if to shelter herself. On her naked arm, his eyes trace dark violet marks on the spot where his fingers grabbed her. Looking up, he sees other bruises on the curve of her neck.

 

This knot in his chest tightens, and he doesn’t know what it is, but it hurts, it aches, and Billy grits his teeth and shakes his head. Whatever this is, he just wants it to end.

 

He looks at the sleeping girl, with her round cheeks and her long, clear lashes. Max. His – no. _Not_ his sister. He never wanted a sister, he never wanted to have to look after the child of whatever whore his father decided to marry. It was never _his_ choice.  But she’s there, they’re both there, and no matter how much he wants to, he can’t really make her disappear, can he…?

He can’t change the situation they’re both in.

 

He lifts one hand, reaching out for her face. He stops suddenly, letting his palm hover just above Max’s hair, near her temple and her forehead, almost close enough to touch her, but he doesn’t do it.

He bites his tongue. The corners of his eyes sting and he bats his eyelids, swallowing thickly.

 

Max’s rosy lips disclose, letting out a small sigh. Her eyelids tremble and small wrinkles appear for a moment on her forehead.

Billy yanks his head away, freezing. For a moment, his heart races wildly.

 

Max turns onto the other side, the teddy bear abandoned against her back.

 

Billy drops his arm along his hip. He’s cold but he’s sweating.

He waits, the seconds dilating in the silence of the small bedroom – but Max stays asleep.

 

He – he doesn’t know what he wants. What he wants to _do._ A tangle of words burn on his lips, but what good would it do to say any of them now, when Max isn’t awake to hear him anyway?

He can’t _apologize_. She’d just laugh at him, or flip him off and run away.

He’d just wanted to go to a fucking party tonight. He’d just wanted to get drunk and forget about everything in his shitty life for a while; was that too much to ask?

 

It’s her fault, once again, it’s all Max’s fault.

He tells himself that, teeth grinding, because his head is pulsing and he feels nauseous and it’s not the alcohol, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

Things will never change between them, will they? It’s already too late.

 

He’ll leave her alone, tomorrow. Let her off easy, even if she’s late when he has to ride her home from school.

At last, Billy’s feet seem to unglue from the spot on the floor where he’s been standing for minutes.

He glances at the shape of her small body in an old bed. Turning away from him now, she doesn’t move.

 

In the silence, one foot behind the other, Billy draws back and slips out of the room.

 

The heavy feeling in his chest doesn’t go away, no matter how hard he tries, for the rest of the night.

He doesn’t sleep at all.


End file.
